


Transcendental

by sammanthamariee



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek/OC - Freeform, F/M, Other, Season/Series 04
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-05
Updated: 2015-05-09
Packaged: 2018-03-21 10:13:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3688368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sammanthamariee/pseuds/sammanthamariee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Danny Stilinski has decided she's done. Done with following her workaholic mother around the world, with living out of her duffle and sleeping in various hotels and crashing on couches when her mother takes off to chase some story. She's done with the nomad life. She knows exactly where to go, Beacon Hills, the only home she's ever known. But its not quite the home she remembered.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Coming Home

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer; Other than my bottomless fantasies, Teen Wolf in no way belongs to me in any possible incarnation.
> 
> This story is set at the beginning of 4A. The crew having just got back from their little Mexican adventure.

.

.

Transcendental;  
\- in Kantian philosophy.  
beyond the contingent and accidental in human experience,  
but not beyond all human knowledge.

.

.

Danny

Picking up my coffee cup to find it empty, I sighed, slamming it back down in the cup holder. My caffeine kick had long been used up. Nonexistent, was the word I was looking for.

Loud rock blared over the engine, breaking the gentle thrum of dawn as the world readied itself for a new day. I struggled to hold back my yawn, widening my eyes and blinking rapidly in an effort to chase off the exhaustion that threatened to drag me over.

I ground my teeth, sitting up straighter. I was persistent, singleminded and as stubborn as they come. Which is how I found myself driving over thirteen hours straight across multiple state lines.

"C'mon, almost there," I whispered to myself. My black chipped fingernails thrummed along on the steering wheel as I bounced in my seat.

I yawned again, and leaned over, cranking up the music to a higher decibel.

Not long after the sun had fully risen, I finally pulled up to the quaint two story house. Pulling the black beanie off of my long caramel tresses, I sighed in relief. Finally allowing the exhaustion to flood my veins. Leaning my head down on the steering wheel I closed my eyes. I had finally made it. Finally reached my destination. The Stilinksi house, Beacon Hills, California. Turning off the engine I looked up taking in the full expanse of the house I knew so well.

It was practically off the map, a tiny lush town the rest of California had no idea about. It wasn't crawling with designer trends and Starbucks corners or flush with sandy beaches, but it was beautiful, peaceful. Slow paced but pulsing with energy, like the everyday workings were big moments. It was the only home that I had ever really known. I had spent so many of my childhood summers here, after my mom would suddenly drop me off without warning and jet off around the world on business. Sometimes I was only here for about a week, other times months. It was as if my mother had forgotten about me, a heartbreaking truth that no child should ever have had to shoulder. I could remember countless times running through the house, breathless and bubbling with laughter, my cousin close right behind me, only to feel the eyes of my aunt or uncle. I could tell, even then, that the time my mother had promised to retrieve me had long come and gone. Of course they made excuses. They told me that my mother had called and was sorry that she had to extend her trip, when honestly they hadn't been able to reach her for weeks. Even as a child I knew it was bullshit.

But, if I was being perfectly honest, I lived for those times. The normalcy of it all. Having someone make me breakfast and brush out my hair. The simplicity of a bedtime story that somebody cared enough to read.

I stepped out of the car and stretched up on to my tippy toes, swinging my arms up in the air and cracking my neck. My legs were stiff and my butt hurt, they tingled as blood steadily pumped threw them. I twisted round and swung my arms once more before reaching into the back for my giant duffle. I turned towards the front of the house just as the sound of the door opening and the jingling of keys reached me. Smiling I leaned back against my car, arms followed across my chest as I watched my uncle sleepily make his way out of the house and towards his car.

He missed me entirely. I fought to stifle my laughter as he pulled open the door to his car and got in. Just after he starting up the engine, I heard a yelp as he turned around to back out, nearly bumping my car in the process. I leaned forward, making sure he hadn't grazed it. It was close, very close but no damage.

I giggled to myself as the engine went silent and the door jerked open, reveling my uncles very shocked face.

"Hayden..." He said, a smile slowly breaking out on his face as he made his way towards me, "I wasn't expecting you until tomorrow."

I shrugged before wrapping my arms around him, cheek resting on his shoulder as I closed my eyes, this was home, "I drove through the night."

He pulled back slightly, face incredulous as he gazed down at me, "All night? Did you even stop at all?"

"Only to gas up my baby," I smiled sheepishly, jerking my head back towards my car.

He spun us around towards the car, keeping an arm around me as he took in the dusty, bug splattered Camero beside us. I was glad he didn't let me go. I wasn't a hundred precent sure I could stand by myself at this point in time. He let out a low whistle a he tilted his head to get a better view, "A '68 SS, am I right?"

"'69 actually, check out the wheel wells."

He nodded then let out a loud breath of air, "She's a beauty, Danny."

I beamed, soaking in the awe and appraisal. I had damn well saved up every penny I ever earned to buy that car. Not a cent from a single soul. He was all mine. Flat black with chrome detailing, the doors squeaked musically and the engine practically purred, it was love at first sight.

Picking my duffle up from where I had dropped it, along with my keys, he heaved it over his shoulder and guided me towards the house. Unlocking the door he started carrying my bag up the stairs. I kept my hand on the railing as I followed him. Slow and steady. I had made it this far, no need to face plant down the stairs in the final minutes. Focused solely on keeping my self up right, I almost bumped into him when he abruptly stopped in the hallway.

"I honestly wasn't expecting you so early," he started, shaking his head slowly. Hand up rubbing the back of his neck, a nervous tick of his. "I didn't exactly clean out your room..."

He opened the door we stopped in front of. A bit above average size for a bedroom, with dark purple dressers, that I had painted myself when I was sixteen, a queen bed with dark grey sheets was bed nestled in the corner. It was exactly as I remembered it. Well, except for the dozens of boxes scattered all across the bed and floor. Some were stacked and orderly while others where empty and tossed on their sides. Papers littered the floor and covered the large corner desk, stacked precariously, they were leaning far too close to the edge in spots.

"Oh," I laughed tiredly, heart dropping, "I see what you mean."

"I'll get it all sorted out tonight but until then..." he turned from the room, walking across the hall and into Stiles' room, "Get some sleep, you look like something out of The Walking Dead."

My laughter rang out as I walked into the room, taking my duffle from him and sitting down on the unmade bed. I didn't even want to think about how I probably looked. I could imagine the horror well enough.

"Wait," I frowned, "Where's Stiles? Last time I checked you needed an air horn to get that boy out of bed before noon."

He let out a stark laugh, "He went camping with some friends for the weekend. So, he won't be in need of his bed until... to be honest I don't even know when that boy is getting back... But anyways, it's all yours for now."

"Thanks Sheriff," I smiled, pulling off my scuffed up converse and kicking them across the floor.

"Now," I narrowed my eyes at, "get yourself to work before I decide to eat your brain... and well, without one working brain in the Sheriff's Department, Beacon Hills will surely crash and burn. I can't have that on my conscious."

Chortling, he backed up with his hands raised, "Alright, I'm going, I'm going," he said.

He pulled the door shut as I pulled my cousin's blanket up around me, but not before giving me one last smile, "I missed you, Kiddo."

I snuggled into the pillow, as my eyes fluttered closed, "Missed you too, Uncle John."

I was fast asleep before he even made it to the stairs.

.

.

.

I awoke to the protesting hinges of the bedroom door opening and closing.

The room was dark, judging by the harsh black outside the window, the sun had long set. I had slept away the entire day. A little surprising but not entirely unexpected. It's not like I hadn't needed it.

Two figures stepped into the room, hush tones being exchanged as they moved around the dark space. The door opened again and a figure stepped out into the hall.

I stirred, sitting up straight in bed as a desk light clicked on. Momentarily blinded, I squeezed my eyes shut immediately as the stark light cut through the darkness.

When I finally cracked my sleepy green eyes open a moment later, I found a hostile pair of brown eyes glaring at me from across the room. A set of brown eyes that surprisingly enough, did not belong to my cousin, but a beautiful very angry blonde girl in camo short shorts. Atta boy, Stiles.

"Uh-" I started before my hello speech was interrupted by the appearance of Stiles. Walking into the room, he made his way over to the dresser. Getting out clothes from his drawer, he tossed a tee shirt at the girl. So casual, I thought. So this happened regularly.

"Stiles," the girl ground out, wringing the shirt in her hands.

"I'm done in the bathroom, its all yours..." he said absentmindedly, still not looking up at either of us. Ha.

"Stiles!" she shouted, shoving him lightly against the dresser.

"Yes, w-what? Malia, what? What's wrong" he stuttered, eyebrows raised.

"There's a girl. In your bed."

"What?" he said, confusion evident on his face, clearly not comprehending what she was saying.

Deciding now was as best a time as any to jump in and save him, I cleared my throat. I struggled to keep my face straight as he nearly jumped a foot in the air. Both of their heads whipped around to stare at me. Still tangled up in Stiles' blankets, hair a wild mess and my Black Sabbath T-shirt I had fallen asleep in rumpled, I gave a small wave. A few seconds passed before Stiles' confused face broke out into a smile and he stumbled over to the bed, only furthering the frown on the blonde girls face, I noticed. Rookie mistake number one.

"Danny!" He all but jumped on me, throwing his arms around my small frame and nearly causing me to tumble backwards, "What are you doing here?"

He pulled back, holding me at arms length, clearly waiting for my response. That's when I noticed the blonde stalking towards the door.

"Uh, Stiles.." I pointed to the escaping blonde just as she was stepping out into the hall.

"Oh... OH!"

He immediately jumped up and ran to the door, pulling the girl back into the room.

She whirled around, anger flashing on her face and she moved to push him away from her.

"No, no, no, nooo," he said hurriedly, "Malia this is Danny. My cousin. Danny this is my gir- my uh, this is Malia."

Hopping up from the bed, I reached out my hand towards the girl, "It's nice to meet you."

Malia's eyes swung back and forth between me and Stiles. No doubt taking in our similar pointed, up turned noses and high cheekbones before breaking out into a smile.

"Hi, sorry, I thought you were some random slut," she said shaking her head and letting out a laugh, "I'm glad you're not though."

Stiles shrugged, offering up a smile as Malia reached out to grasp my still outreached hand, "She's direct."

"I can see th-," I started as my hand connected with Malia's. A dull pulse went through me and my head snapped up. The world muted, Stiles' ramblings fading to a buzz as my eyes remained locked on Malia's. The room seemed to grow hazy, unfocused as Malia moved into perfectly clarity. Her features sharpened. Every detail exaggerated to the point of perfection.

As Malia dropped her hand, sound rushed back in as the connection broke. It was almost too much for me. I stumbled back a bit, eyes squeezed shut at the sudden deafening roar.

Not what I had been expecting. Beacon Hills huh, who knew. I wondered if Stiles did.

"Um, Danny? Hello?"

Stiles snapped his fingers in front of my face.

I shook myself out of it. Blinking my eyes to clear my focus, I found Stiles and Malia both staring at me oddly.

"Oh, um.. what?" I mumbled trying to backtrack, figure out what was just said. My eyes still shifted back to stare at Malia, almost as if of their own accord. I stared her up and down, cataloguing every minuscule detail.

Malia's back stiffened as Stiles rambled on, reminiscing about the last time he had seen me. It was spring break of last year, I think. I racked my sleepy brain.

"She knows."

Stiles froze, looking between both of us before finally resting on Malia, "Pardon me?"

"She knows, Stiles, I don't know how she knows, but she knows." Malia answered him, crossing her arms across her chest. Huh, she was quick.

"She knows what..?" Stiles asked hesitantly, eyebrows raised as he shifted nervously.

"That your girlfriend is a shifter," I supplied for him. Thank god, I can ask. No. I shouldn't ask.

"She's not exactly my g- wait, what?"

Me and Malia stared at each other as Stiles sputtered in the background. It was gonna kill me if I didn't ask.

"Not a wolf but..." I drifted off, focusing my eyes on Malia. Couldn't help myself.

"Coyote," Malia conceded.

"Ooh," I remarked, I nodded my head as I sat back down on the bed, I could see it now, "Nice."

At this, Stiles and Malia both stilled, their eyes growing wide.

I made a face, confused, "What?"

Stiles spoke first, as he sat back into his desk chair, "Nice...?"


	2. With Open Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N; Baffling thought... what the hell is Sheriff Stilinski's first name? Apparently no one knows. How did I never notice this!? What is it with the Stilinski men and secret names? Evidently the fandom goes with John, fitting I think, is that short of John Doe? Hahaa. So for all intents and purposes we're gonna go with that. Now, onwards!
> 
> Disclaimer; Though I often wish so ferociously for it to be true, Teen Wolf does in fact not belong to me, at all. Not in the slightest.

.

.

"Not a wolf but..." I drifted off, focusing my eyes on Malia. Couldn't help myself.

"Coyote," Malia conceded.

"Ooh," I remarked, I nodded my head as I sat back down on the bed, I could see it now, "Nice."

At this, Stiles and Malia both stilled, their eyes growing wide.

I made a face, confused, "What?"

Stiles spoke first, as he sat back into his desk chair, "Nice...?"

.

.

Danny

Sometime while I has been sleeping the heavens had cracked open, blasting Beacon Hills with a torrential downpour. Lightning whipped across the sky, rhythmically, illuminating the window pane with bright flashes. I sat on the bed across from Stiles and Malia, all of us quietly staring at one another. A booming crack of thunder split the silence, vaulting Stiles from his seat.

He paced in front of us, hand coming up to rub the back of his neck as he muttered to himself.

Suddenly he stopped, staring at me before he resumed his pacing. I could practically see the cogs turning inside his head, working overtime as metaphorical steam surged from his ears.

I could only make out a few random words here and there, from 'werewolf' to 'psychic', 'shifters' to 'druid' as well as a few choice curse words. Either Stiles had an overactive imagination or Beacon Hills wasn't as quiet as it had always seemed to be. Turns out I couldn't escape it even here.

It wasn't until he began muttering something about 'genetic mutation' and 'homo sapiens superior' before I couldn't take it anymore. Usually, when Stiles went on one of his practically incoherent brainstorming tirades you left him too it. Either he came to some genius conclusion that no one had ever thought of or, he ran out of steam. But it was late and I could feel a headache coming on, I didn't have the patience for either outcome.

"Seriously? All your pacing and thinking led you to X-Men? Marvel comics.. is your intelligent thought process? Really Stiles, really? Thats where you're gonna go with this?" I snapped at my cousin. I was all for superhero movies, but really?

Before Stiles could get a word out, footsteps sounded in the hall. Not even a moment later Uncle John's head poked into the room. We must have missed him come in, in all the... excitement.

"Oh," he said, leaning against the door frame, "Stiles you're back. Was hoping to beat you home. Your cousin's here," he smiled, casting a quick look at me, "But uh, well you know that."

"Yeah," Stiles answered sarcastically, "I noticed. When I came home," he paused, "In the dark. To find a body in my bed."

"Yeeeeeah," His father started, hand coming up to scratch the back of his head, "She called the other night, you weren't here and I didn't have time to clean out her room and well, you weren't here."

"I got here earlier then expected," I supplied helpfully, "Drove through the night, was zombie-like."

"Well, while we're all here and awake, let's at least get that room sleepable while we have the extra muscle," Uncle John said, smiling at Malia before disappearing from the room.

I got up to follow before Stiles' hand on my arm halted my steps. He opened his mouth to talk but I beat him to it, the look on his face had said it all. Besides, I wanted to hear a few things myself.

"I know Stiles, we're not done here. The conversation will be had. Just try and relax, I'm not going anywhere..." my lip quirked up into a smirk, "And no, I'm not a shifter, druid, X-Men, or faerie for that matter."

Walking out of the room, I heard Stiles exclaim, "Fairy?! I really hope that that's a joke. Tinkerbell was demonic... What?! You've seen Peter Pan, that firefly betrayed everyone."

Followed by Malia's questioning tone, "What's an X-Men?"

.

.

.

It only took us about half an hour to tidy up my room, make it livable. We had stacked all the boxes against one wall, creating towering white pillars of varying heights. My uncle was gathering all the papers off the desk and sorting them into multiple piles before sticking them in file folders. He handed them to Stiles, who boxed them.

"Are these old case files?" I inquired, picking a sheet off the floor he had missed.

I looked it over, catching the words 'bipedal lizard man' before it was snatched from my hands. Expecting to see Stiles clutching the paper I was beyond surprised when I looked up and found my uncle standing there. Stuffing the paper into a folder he avoided my eyes. So, he was aware of unusual undergoing's as well. How very interesting.

"A lot of these are... prank calls that were taken down," he said slowly, securing the lid to the final box on the desk. Or was he? Maybe he was on the verge of figuring it all out? Too often I had come across law enforcement or government officials, that stumbled on to the truth. It either made the better at their jobs or left them hanging off barstools at three o'clock in the morning with no means to pay off their tab. I hoped he wouldn't turn out to be the latter.

"Ooh," I smiled, crossing the room to pick up my duffle from its spot by the door. "Like, 'Please, send help, Godzilla's crashing down main street' kind of thing..."

"Exactly like that," he smiled, finally meeting my eyes. So he knew.

Well, it was going to all come out eventually, better that I got it out of the way now.

"And here I thought.. sounds like a kanima on the loose!" I shrugged, emptying my duffle out on to the bed.

He dropped the box in his hand, eyes wide, face red. He looked over at Stiles first who put his hands up in the air, then at Malia, who shook her head.

"We said nothing," Malia declared, placing a box on top of one of the piles, "Didn't have to, she already knew what I was within a couple minutes."

All eyes turned towards me. Here we go.

My uncle sighed, flopping back onto the desk chair, "Hayden, could you let us in on... whatever it is you are." Rubbing his hands over his face he looked back up at me.

I paused in my ministrations, half way between folding a pair of jeans, "I'm your niece."

Stiles started towards me, "You know that isn't what he meant, Hayden."

"Oh, it's Hayden now, huh. How very serious. Should I start using your full name Stiles?"

Stiles blanched, casting a quick glance at Malia who was perched on top of a box, inspecting her fingernails. "No," he squeaked, "All good here." That's right, hit 'em where it hurts.

I sighed. Walking over to the dresser, I placed the stack of recently folded clothes inside before turning towards them.

"I'm human."

At there incredulous looks, I gave them a pointed look, "Honest to god truth. I'm a hundred precent human... Well, maybe not somewhere down the line, I'm not quite sure how that works... but anyways," I cleared my throat. "I was born with a gift... or curse depending how you look at it, of sight."

Malia snorted in the corner, "I think we all were."

Okay, maybe she wasn't as quick as I made her out to be.

"I don't mean literal sight. It's called different things by different cultures, 'shadow sight' or 'faeire sight' or more commonly the 'second sight.'"

I gave them a beat to allow the new information to sink in.

"Like ESP..." Stiles volunteered, gears turning.

That's it, thank you, Stiles.

"I don't know tons about how it works or why but basically I can see through glamour.. uh, see the truth of the supernatural world. Sometimes it's only a feeling, a tingle, but with shifters.. and other supes... Uh, supernatural beings I can see their aura, the truth beneath the mask, as you will."

They started at me, Malia and uncle John seemingly dumbfounded while Stiles soaked it all in. Geek.

I tried again, "It's like, Malia, when you shift, when you use your true eyes and you're able to see differently."

Stiles snapped his fingers, "Ah! I get it. Like when Scott was able to see Kira, her kitsune spirit or aura or whatever you wanna call it. He said it looked like a fox. Like a glowing fox around her."

"Scott too? Really? Has everything changed since I've been gone?" I said, partially speaking to myself as I sunk down on to the bed. Scott had been our other partner in crime once Stiles had hit grade school. Our third Musketeer, I had known him most of my life, still emailed with him regularly. I wondered how long it had been since he changed, crossed over to the real world. Not for the first time, I wished I had told them, Stiles and Scott. I could have helped them through all this change. The nightmare world they had seemingly stumbled into.

"Alright," uncle John interjected, "At least this makes things easier. Lemme tell you when someone is left in the dark when things like Kanima's and demonic ninjas start roaming the streets, it is not an easy thing to lie about."

There was a hint of bitterness there as he refrained from looking at Stiles. I wondered what happened, what desperate situation had led to the opening of his eyes.

I looked up, shifting my gaze to Stiles as I caught the end of his sentence, "Demonic ninjas?"

Stiles had the decency to look sheepish, "I was possessed by a dark spirit, it was a whole thing. I'll.. fill you in later."

Possessed?

"Shifters, kanima's, demoic ninjas and dark spirits... what is this town built over the Hellmouth?," I laughed.

"Nemeton, actually," Stiles answered me.

"That was supposed to be a joke," I frowned, laughter silenced. That was supposed to be a joke.

"Believe me," my uncle said, getting up from the desk, "I wish it was... Now, I think that's enough for tonight."

"It's not actually under town either..." Stiles went on.

"Stiles. Bed. Let's go," his father said, pushing him out the door, "Danny, I'll get these boxes out of here sometime this week."

"Sure thing, no worries," I answered him, still focusing on Stiles' struggling form. It was supposed to be a joke.

"Night, kiddo."

"It's in the woods," Stiles continued holding on to the door frame as his father attempted to drag him from the room.

Malia rolled her eyes, prying his fingers from the door as she pushed him from the room, "Night!"

"Good night." I allowed myself to smile at my cousins antics, watching them push Stiles towards his room as she shut the door.

"It's a tree!" I heard Stiles yell from the hall. I chuckled quietly to myself, could practically hear my uncles sigh.

Even with all the changes, it was still good to be home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N; A little short I know. This was originally supposed to be longer but I was distracted by life today and now it's late and I have work in the morning and well yeah, I just wanted to get something out. Sorry for any typos! If all goes well the next chapter will be in the next day or two. Hope you all enjoyed! Feedback is not only appreciated but encouraged, xx


	3. Teenage Dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, as I hate it when you have to read entire scenes from the show over and over again I wont be doing that. Unless Danny is in them or has something directly to do with a scene that has to be rewritten to fit my story, you won't find the entire episodes here verbatim. We've all watched the show, you know what happens. Why waste time with those scenes right?
> 
> Disclaimer; Though I often wish so ferociously for it to be true, Teen Wolf does in fact not belong to me, at all. Not in the slightest.

Danny

I woke before dawn.

For someone who had slept most of yesterday away, I was surprised I had even slept that long. Stretching out my arms and arching my back I tried to recall the last time I had slept so soundly.

I got up and tiptoed down the hall, quietly shutting the door to the bathroom. Finishing up my morning business I gave my face a quick wash. Looking up at my reflection in the mirror after wiping my face dry I observed the dark circles under my eyes that were not there. I felt revitalized. Standing there in my checkered boxer shorts, scrunched down tube socks and overly large orange UT Dallas football tee, I ran my hands through my hair. Halfheartedly trying to tame the unruly mess that had erupted in my sleep. I allowed herself a moment to take in my appearance. My skin was glowing, holding on to its last vestiges of summer sun. Thick lashes framed my eyes, which, no longer sleep deprived, were a soft pale green, so light at times that they almost appeared grey. My small straight upturned nose and cheekbones were similar to Stiles' complete with a smattering of freckles across my nose that faded with the shining sun, come winter. A single solitary beauty mark graced my left cheek, mirroring Stiles' almost exactly. Our best friend mark, we had always called it. Believing, as children, that it had hopped from Stiles cheek to hers, to mark our friendship. A ridiculous notion mind you but at the tender age of six, when it had appeared, it had seemed like the only plausible fact. I bit my lip, stifling my laughter at the memory of my aunt and uncles reaction, their stunned faces in reaction to seemingly foolproof toddler logic.

Slightly red from where I had bitten down on it I licked my lips. They were forever annoyingly pouty, the top one swelling out, almost burying the bottom with its soft pink plump. My hair was a very dark caramel blonde, a tangled mess of waves. The popular definition was 'dirty blonde' but I loathed that title. Dirty blonde, like I didn't wash, or had dirt covering a hidden platinum blonde. It was an in between colour, not quite brown but not blonde either. A soft caramel that the summer sun had brightened with streaks of gold. It hung down to my waist, thick and unruly, it was quite often out of control. A mess of waves and rough curls that I prided myself in perfecting on a daily basis. For now I ran my fingers through it, detangling knots and smoothing down frizz before pulling it in to a long loose braid.

Turning off the bathroom light I continued my quiet trek down the hall, making my way downstairs to the kitchen. Tracing the familiar path in the darkness, I ran my fingers along the wall and flicked the light switch on.

What I really needed was a large cup of tea, desperately. In the biggest mug they owned. I mechanically filled up the kettle and put it on the stove, it was when I was teaching up to the cupboard for tea bags when I remembered that neither uncle John nor Stiles usually drank tea. Shit. I exhaled a defeated puff of air, floating my bangs upwards before regretfully closing the half open cupboard. I stopped when a colourful box caught the corner of my eye. Hesitantly pulling open the door I she couldn't stop my lip from quivering as my eyes instantly pooled with tears. The bottom shelf was delicately stacked with brightly coloured boxes of tea. Earl Grey, Chai, Peppermint, English Breakfast, all my favourites were there. Next to them even sat a box of hot chocolate mix, a small bottle of vanilla extract and a package of cinnamon sticks. I could remember ranting over breakfast one morning, many years ago, about how, in different teas, they brought out the delicate undertones of flavour. Stiles and my uncle had both laughed me off, calling me a posh tea connoisseur. A title I was proud to accept I told them before calling them something along the lines of 'uncultured swine' if I remembered correctly. I smiled at the memory, honestly I just really had a thing for London Fogs.

My heart felt lighter then it had in a long time. It was such a small gesture, minuscule and probably done off hand and yet.. it meant everything. I had forgotten what it had felt like to be taken care of, to be remembered.

Pulling out the Earl Grey, I opened the box and got out a mug, not big enough but usable, and dropped in a tea bag. I reached for the vanilla, adding a couple drops just as the kettle began to sing. An old perfected routine. Grabbing it off the stove quickly before it could make too much noise I poured it into my mug. After adding a dollop of milk I lifted the mug up to my, face inhaling the sweet vanilla scent and sharp bergamot before taking a small sip.

"Fuck," I hissed, jerking my head back. I steadied both hands on the mug before I could spill the cup down myself.

Note to self, I thought dryly, tea is bloody hot.

I suddenly remembered laughing at the 'careful, this is extremely hot' or whatever, label on the Starbucks cups. Touché Starbucks, touché, you win this round.

Hearing movement upstairs, followed closely by the groaning of pipes as the shower turned on, I busied myself with the coffee maker. Turning it on, I set out a steel travel mug beside it before grabbing my tea and heading for the door. As an after thought on my way out, I grabbed a knitted blanket off the back of the couch and slipped outside.

The morning was cool and crisp. I pulled the blanket around myself before settling onto the porch chair. Blowing on the mug nestled between my hands I watched the world slowly grow brighter with each passing second. The air was fresh and dew glistened on the grass. Before long there would be frost but for now summer clung to its last remains, a soft echo before the change in seasons. I took a deep breath before hesitantly sipping at my tea and sighed happily. Perfect temperature. Birds song rang through the air as the sun began to peak its way over the horizon, casting rays across the lawn and lighting up the dew like tiny diamonds a top each blade of grass. I drank my tea is silence, watching the world come alive. This was home, at last.

Not long after... my tea was only half gone, uncle John stepped out on to the porch. Full Sheriff's uniform donned, a box under his arm and travel mug clutched in his hand. He saw me and smiled, setting his box down before taking the seat on the other side.

"How did you sleep?" he asked me, stretching out, he propped his feet up on the box.

"Like a rock," I answered with a small laugh, "You?

"Not bad actually, I always sleep better when Stiles is in the house. When I know he's not out there getting in to trouble." He gave me a pointed look, "That boy has a knack for finding trouble. Anything that goes on in the town, Stiles is either involved or not far behind."

I arched my brows, cocking my head towards him. "So, just like he's always been then?" I said, matter-of-factly.

"Oh, don't think I've forgotten the trouble you both used to get into. Both of you together traumatized the babysitters of Beacon Hills, ya know. They still talk about the fearsome Stilinski twosome. Old Mrs. Fitz crosses the street when she sees Stiles coming, even now."

My laughter filled the air, "It's not entirely our fault! We didn't even know that flare gun was loaded." Well, maybe I did. But her and Stiles had agreed, they would take it to the grave.

He gave me a sardonic smile before taking a sip of his coffee, "Sure you didn't."

"Thanks for the coffee, kiddo," he said raising his cup in salute, "Walking down the stairs to that smell, well... Let' s just say I thought I was still asleep for a second there. It was a nice surprise."

I smiled at him, lifting my shoulder in a small nonchalant shrug, "I was up. Thank you for my tea though."

"Ah, you found it," he said, suddenly bashful, "I wasn't sure which to get and if I left any out and if I got th-"

I cut of his rambling, "It's perfect Uncle John, really."

"Well," he said, clearing his throat, "What are your plans for today?"

"I don't really know," I answered him, thinking, "Nothing much, unpack and tidy up my room a little more, maybe go into town, see whose hiring. Oh and my baby desperately needs a bath."

We both looked up to the dirt encased, bug covered Camaro in the driveway. Even the rain hadn't cut through all that grime. Baby needed a good scrub.

"Ya think?"

He got up from his seat, picking up the box and straightening up. "Well, I'm off. I've got a full shift today but I shouldn't be home overly late and," he looked down at his watch, "Stiles should be up soon for school..."

I straightened my back and gave a mock salute, "I'll rouse the crew," I said, "Have a good day, Sheriff."

He shook his head, smiling at my antics before heading down the steps, "See ya later kiddo."

Sitting on the porch for a few more minutes, I finished up my tea as I basked in the early morning sunshine. The day was already growing warmer, chasing away the cool September nights chill. I stood up and stretched, reaching up on to my tiptoes and rolling my neck around. Arms reaching down, I came down from pointe in perfect fifth position. I rolled my hand forward in a wave and dipped my head forward.

"Ladies and gentleman, I'll be here all week," I whispered to my imagined audience as I curtsied and then spun around through the door. Oh, the prima ballerina days.

Throwing the blanket down on the couch, I made sure there was still coffee left before getting out another mug and a packet of hot chocolate.

"Stiillleeeeessss," I singsonged, traipsing up the stairs and down the hall.

"Rise and shine! Do you want coffee or I could make you a-" I said throwing open the door.

My eyes grew wide, "...Cafe mocha?"

Halfway out the window Malia froze.

"Oh, my god," Stiles' hand came up to cover his face in exasperation. He shifted his fingers, eye peaking out from behind his hand. No doubt catching my amused expression as I leaned against the door frame, he dropped his hand. Instead he brought it up to the back of his head, scratching nervously as he stared at me, "Uhh."

"So?" I asked quizzically. Oh this would be fun. He makes it too easy.

"Soooo... What?" he said hesitantly, as Malia climbed down from the window ledge.

I arched my eyebrows, only imagining the impish grin that was stretched across my face, "Coffee or mocha?"

"Cafe mocha..." Malia said hesitantly.

I stared at Stiles. Daring him to say something else.

"Oh, uh, yeah me too... Thanks?"

I spun on my heel, disappearing "They'll be ready in five," I called behind me.

On my way down the hall I stopped in my room, grabbing a black t-shirt from the pile of clothes I had yet to put away. This should do fine. Continuing my journey, I threw it at a surprised Malia, who was walking into the bathroom.

Snatching it out of her the air, Malia gave me a rueful smile, "Thanks."

I nodded, smirk still present on my face as I went down the stairs, "Anytime."

I immersed myself in making the Cafe Mochas. Pouring a packet of hot chocolate in each mug and adding a couple drops of milk, I stirred it around until it became a thick dark chocolate goop. Pouring half a cup of hot coffee into each I topped the rest off with milk.

Stiles entered the kitchen just as I was placing the cups on the table.

As he reached for one, I pulled back, modeling my face into a mask of innocence, "Sleep well, dear cousin?"

He pursed his lips, narrowing his eyes at me as he wrapped his hand around one of the mugs, "Just give me the mocha, Hayden."

"Ah, ah, ah," I sung, moving backwards, just a hair out of reach.

He sighed, resigned to his fate, "I slept great, ok, just wonderfully. Can I have my mocha now?

I conceded. Handing it to him as he sat down at the table, "Now, that wasn't too hard was it?" I grinned.

"I hate you," he grumbled.

I cocked my eyebrow, hand on hip.

Taking a sip of his mocha, he closed his eyes and sighed, "Oh god, that's good..."

"Yeah," I scoffed, "That's what I thought." Queen of the hot beverage. They should seriously crown me.

He looked down at his phone, checking the time, "What the hell is she doing? By the time I run her by her house to change we're both going to be late. Coach is going to flip," he groaned.

Moments later, Malia strolled into the kitchen my loose black v-neck tee tucked into the front of her camo shorts. Leather jacket slung over her shoulder. I knew it would work. Score one for me.

"Alright," she said, flopping down at the table, "Gimme the mocha thingy."

Just as I slid the cup towards her, Stiles slide it up and off the table, "You don't have time to drink this now. We're gonna be late for school and we still have to swing by your house so you can change."

I intercepted Stiles. Grabbing the cup, I spun away from him and placed it before Malia again, "Sit down Stiles. You won't be late."

He crossed his arms. "Oh, really we won't be late. Do you have magical fairy powers to go along with your magical fairy sight, Tinkerbell?" he asked, sarcasm in full effect.

Oh, strike one Stiles. I narrowed my eyes, dangerously, "Grow up, Peter Pan."

Malia stood, interceding before things could get ugly, "Stiles, it's fine. We don't have to go by my house. I'm good."

"But you always need to change! You said you can't wear the same thing you wore yesterday..." he argued.

She drained the rest of her mocha then set it in the sink, "And I'm not. Now c'mon let's go before your cousin kills you and we really are late." Oh, she was good.

Ignoring his protesting she pushed Stiles out of the kitchen, calling out a thank you on their way out the door.

I shook my head, smiling long after the door slammed shut.

Coyote or not, I liked that girl.

.

.

.

For the next few hours, I worked on my room. Hanging and folding what little clothes I had, had only taken about half an hour. My shoes, which weren't much, consisted of a scuffed up pair of converse high tops, black lace up boots, a pair of red flip flops and black lace pair of stilettos. I couldn't stop myself from buying the last pair. They were a necessary purchase. I had talked myself in to plenty of bars and out of heaps of trouble thanks to those babies. If only the rest of my wardrobe was as wonderful. It was made up mostly of basic pieces. Two pairs of jeans, a couple leggings, a pair of track pants. Cut off shorts, tank tops and a few plain v-neck tops. Oh and a plethora of band tee shirts, my main weakness. Recent and vintage, they were a main staple in my life. Don't get me wrong I had some wonderful pieces, a few one of a kind originals I had made myself actually. It wasn't like my wardrobe was in shambles by any means. Just small. Teeny... tiny really. I stared at my sad excuse for a wardrobe before making a mental note to go shopping when I had the chance. Retail therapy was good for the soul. Next, I stored my toiletries away in the bathroom, noting that Stiles had somehow found the time to empty out a drawer for me. I tried not to dwell on it that much, I had work too do, didn't have the time to go getting emotional just yet. Following that I moved on to my jewelry, hanging what I had on a little frame with hooks that I had made when I was younger. Pintrest for the win. I stood the frame up on my dresser before placing my makeup bag in front of it. Most importantly, I placed my curler, blowdryer and hair brushes in a basket beside my end table, my most revered Rapunzel tools. Finally I pulled my silver MacBook computer out of its sleeve and sat it on the desk. Flipping open the lid I waited for it to power up before putting on my country playlist. Yeah, I had secret country addiction, sue me. I lived in Texas for quite awhile, you try not falling in love with Tim McGraw.

Last but not least were my pictures. In a large courier enveloped tucked at the bottom of my, now empty, duffle were all my photos and a bundle of postcards. Whenever we had stayed at a hotel or a rental house for longer then a couple days I took them out and put them up. My mother didn't get it, often laughing at me for toting them around, but, I just never felt quite right without them. I sat on the floor, pulling them out of the large envelope and on to my lap. Some were loose or in thin single frames, while a couple were grouped together in a larger frame. I even had a bunch that I had attached to black ribbons in neat little strips, complete with bows on top. I held one up in front of me, squeezing one eye shut. These I would hang on either side of the mirror I decided then, they were pretty much the exact length.

Going through my photos always brought me back to different times in my life, memories I cherished above all else. Some were photos of landscapes or city skylines that I had taken on my mother's worldwide business trips, while others were of me with various people and places. I glanced through the photos, stopping on one with me and a couple girlfriends, decked out in orange and green paint at a UT Dallas football game. Homecoming. I remembered that game perfectly, down to the winning pass and terrible cold I had come down with afterwards. It had been worth it though. They had gone all the way to state that year, I just wished I had been around to see it. Another photo was of me and a friend in front of the Conan Doyle pub in Scotland, eighteen years old and the first night I had gotten royally pissed drunk. The story eventually ended up with me leaned over in the ally, cursing Guinness as it made its reappearance. They continued on like that, from the various places we had visited or lived for varying periods of time. Some of just me or with friends and a couple very rare ones with my mother. Each one containing a very vivid memory, locked inside the photo as if by magic. So clear, it was almost as if they appeared to move at times.

At the bottom of the stack, were two very old framed photos. One in a brown wooden frame, was of me and Stiles, covered head to toe in mud. Big gap toothed grins on our toddler faces as we held our hands out towards the camera. Grinning deviously of course, as we had charged uncle John not even two seconds after the picture was taken. The second photo, in a thick black paint-splattered frame was my favourite and was usually the first photo I put out. It was of me and Stiles again, on my tenth birthday. He had wrapped himself completely in purple floral wrapping paper, complete with a large silver bow crookedly a top his head. Huge smile on his face, he had presented himself to me, which, as a six year old made for the ideal present of course. The picture had captured me giggling into my hands beside him, while my aunt Claudia sat on his other side, head thrown back in mid-laugh. Beautiful and vibrant. I tenderly stroked my fingers across the photo as tears welled in my eyes. It was the last photo I had of my aunt, she had passed away two years later.

Placing the frame on my bedside table and the other on my desk, I scattered a few others around my room before placing the rest back into the envelope. I tucked them delicately into my bottom desk drawer, adding 'frames' to my mental shopping list. Rolling up the duffle I threw it in to the back of my closet behind my shoes. Flopping back on to my bed I sighed, looking around me. It was the only real permanent room I ever really had. Everything I had in the world was in this room. A meagre but cherished collection.

The next hour or so I spent giving the house a quick but much needed clean. I shuddered to think of the last time it had had a thorough cleaning. Men, I scoffed. Changing into a pair of black track shorts and a light grey tank top, I unbraided my hair. Pulling it up in to a high ponytail to keep it off the back of my neck as I worked. I pulled a red bandana out of my makeup bag and folded it up, tying it around my head to keep my bangs out of my eyes. Shutting my computer to silence the music, I popped my earbuds in and plugged them into my phone. Choosing an old 80's playlist, I set to work. Sliding down the halls and shaking my hips, I rocked out. Vacuuming the stairs to Prince and dusting the the living room as I belted out to Madonna. I had to break entirely when Cyndi Lauper's 'Girls Just Want To Have Fun' came one. I don't care what anyone else says, it's pretty much the international girl anthem. An entire risky business dance party later I was done and the house sparkled. Pouring myself a glass of cold water I guzzled it down greedily, collapsing on to the downstairs couch.

Taking off my tube socks I put my feet up on the coffee table. Taking stock of my toe nails I mentally cringed. Overgrown and chipped green nail polish stared up at me, taunting me with their hideous imperfection in my freshly cleaned house. When was the last time I had taken care of my toe nails? I shook my head. Grabbing my socks I ran upstairs to the bathroom, going through my toiletry back I had tucked under the sink. Filled with female necessities, I let out a cheer when I found a small bottle of remover alongside a few nail polish bottles. Getting out a pair of nail clippers and a file from the drawer I sat down on edge of the bathtub, fiercely determined to correct the injustice I had allowed my feet to bear. Fifteen minutes later, my toes and fingernails where trimmed, buffed and nail polish free. Thank god, I thought, disaster averted. Rolling my eyes, I snorted at my ridiculousness. The things I worried about, really. Honestly, I had bigger priorities in life... Like my car.

Ugh. How had I forgotten my baby? Sitting out there in the driveway. Mud covered. Filthy. Splattered with tiny bug carcasses, like a macabre insect murder scene while I fretted about the state of my nails.

I practically flew down the stairs and out the front door.

.

.

Stiles

"I still don't understand why we're here."

Pulling in to the driveway I parked then turned to Derek, "Look I told you, we just have to wait for Scott to get back. From his errand... That and, I forgot my charger. " I was fuming. Of course I get stuck babysitting, while Scott goes off to talk to the deranged sociopath. Bad idea on top of bad idea.

I got out of the car, not bothering to wait for Derek. Cursing Scott and Peter simultaneously... and here I had thought twenty-something year old Derek was annoying.

Saying a quick hello to Danny, who was outside washing her car I went into the house. I made it all the way up to my room when I realized that house was dead silent. No screeching of the porch door, no creaking of the floorboards in the foyer. Derek hadn't followed me in.

"What the hell is he-" I stopped dead then spun around, taking the stairs two at a time.

.

.

Derek

She turned off the water and stuck her hands into the soapy bucket. She was pulling out a fluffy hand mitt as the annoying jittery one, Stiles was it? Came rushing by her with a mumbled hello. She gave his retreating figure a small salute, "Nice talking to you too." Her voice was soft, a musical lilt that ran like honey.

Smacking the sopping wet mitt on the hood of the rinsed down car she began scrubbing at the stuck on insect remains. I was frozen as she bent over the hood, tiny shorts riding up her lean tan legs. She had heaps of long thick hair pulled up in a ponytail. I wasn't sure what colour it was, it wasn't a stark blonde, like Kate's but soft, a light brown maybe... Dark blonde? Whatever it was it caught the early evening sun just so, illuminating shining streaks of gold trapped within the strands.

Completely absorbed in her work, she jumped when I cleared my throat.

Spinning around she dropped her mitt and I was suddenly at a loss for words. She brought to mind an old sticker I had seen on an old steel toolbox in an auto shop, I think it was. A faded sticker of a cartoon girl, draw with one leg out in short shorts and a small tied up checkered shirt. Hair in tight curls tucked up underneath a bandana and bright red lips, she was sitting on the side of a motorcycle a wrench in hand and covered in grease. Focusing back on the sight in front of me, I couldn't help the tightening in my pants as her plump pink lips opened in shock. That single beauty mark below her angular cheek was like a beacon as she blinked her eyes, though with those lashes... Ugh, I finally understood the meaning of "batting your lashes." Continuing my visual trek up I- damn, you have got to be kidding me. A carefully tied red bandana completed the perfection in front of me.

I bent down and picked up the mitt, handing it over to her.

"Hi," I said flashing her a smile I hopped was charming, "I'm Derek Hale."

She was momentarily frozen. Staring at me with those light green eyes.

"Uh, thanks," she answered reaching out to accept the soggy mitt, "Danny."

I tucked my hands in my pockets and gestured to her car with my head, focusing my attention. Trying to look anywhere but at her damp clingy tank top, "That's some car, Danny, '69 right?"

.

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Stiles

I grabbed my charger and charged down the stairs, taking them three at a time. Rushing out of the house I stopped to catch my breath, taking in the scene in front of me. Danny was barefoot and clad in what Stiles believed to be a ridiculously tiny pair of black shorts. Grey tank top, half soaked, clung to her side and a few curls had escaped from her pony tail hanging down around her neck. Then there was Derek Hale. Standing there, hands in his pocket staring at her like an all you can eat buffet, a charming smile on his face. It was like a scene from a bad 80's movie.

Wait, charming smile? Derek Hale?

Derek Hale didn't smile. I had never seen him smile before. I didn't even think he was capable of such a thing.

"Nope, nope, nope."

Hastily walking over, I put an arm around Derek's shoulders and steered him away, "Sorry, we've got to go."

"But you said-"

"Forget what I said, we'll just wait at Scott's. It's actually the logical place to wait really. It's his house. Scott's house. Where Scott lives," I rambled, pushing him towards my jeep.

I walked to the passenger side door and yanked it open just as Derek turned around and waved to Danny.

"It was nice to meet you!" he called out before climbing in to the jeep. Infuriating blue eyed teenage werewolf. I'm going to kill Scott.

Slamming the door, I grumbled as I made my way around to the driver's seat, cursing my best friend. Getting in I looked over at Derek, whose eyes were still on Danny. I scoffed, starting up the engine, "Don't even think about it, she's way too old for you, buddy."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So? How did we like it? Finally got around to describing Danny. I don't know about you guys but I hate when I can't picture the character in a story, completely throws me off. Hope you all enjoyed it! I know everyone's been dying for her to meet Derek.
> 
> Reviews are oxygen which add to faster updates! Night lovelies xx


	4. The Shadows of Scars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to avoid confusion in regards to ages as well as teenage Derek. I've done a lot of research on how old everyone is and have come to the conclusion that Scott, Stiles and Lydia are about 17 in the beginning of the fourth season. Danny is four years older then them, she'll be turning 21 in October. In regards to Derek, his age is sort of a mystery in the show, (a driver license was shown at one point but then the writers stated it was a fake, why? Who knows) Anyways he's estimated to be somewhere between 21-25 and so, for this story I'm going to go with 24. Which all works out perfectly for me, I don't know about you guys, but I find it a little creepy when reading stories that have a 25 year old Derek dating a 16 year old.
> 
> Now, as to teenage Derek. As mentioned before, this fic is set in the beginning of the fourth season, right after the crew gets back from Mexico... Where they encounter the berserkers and find teenage Derek. This story will keep to the basic plot line, which by the end of the second episode, has him back to his tall dark and brooding 24 year old self again. I just had this adorable vision in my head of them meeting when he was young and her wet and covered in soap suds, in a cliche car wash scene. Hope that clears it up for everyone but do not hesitate to review with any questions if not.
> 
> Disclaimer; Teen Wolf and Derek Hale do not belong to me, not in the slightest. No matter how many 'accio' spells I try. He must be too far away.

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Stiles  
Slamming the door, I grumbled as I made my way around to the driver's seat, cursing my best friend. Getting in I looked over at Derek, whose eyes were still on Danny. I scoffed, starting up the engine, "Don't even think about it, she's way too old for you, buddy."

.

.

 

Danny

As I watched the jeep pull out and drive away, I couldn't help but stare after it. Standing there, dripping mitt in my hand, motionless and deep in thought long after it had turned the corner.

There was something, off about Derek Hale, and it had nothing to do with fact that he was a werewolf. Born and raised. I could tell that much from his deep blue aura, wolflike and pulsing it was embedded to his very core. That wasn't the unusual part, I had read plenty of shifters in my travels, all distinctive and very much their own. Although all very permanent, those who had acquired their nature through the bite appeared different to those who had been born a shifter. It was like a tattoo or brand across their aura, whereas natural born shifters were practically immersed within their animal counterpart, mirror reflections of the same soul. With Derek, the wolf twined within his very being.

His wolf was fine, a little restless but intact. It was the essence of his being, that was different. As if his aura had been scrubbed clean. Like a lingering whiff of bleach clung to him.

I shook my head, trying to make sense of it, explain it to myself in words. Not clean per say but buffed. As if someone had applied a fresh coat and his aura shock with the strain. Something like that anyways, my head hurt as I tried to describe an indescribable thing.

Finally turning back to my car, I walked around it slowly as I scrubbed off grime and bug guts. I couldn't help but feel sorry for him, being a teenager was confusing enough without the added stress of the full moon and messed up auras. I made a note to ask Stiles about him, my mental checklist growing longer by the minute it seemed. I really should start writing everything down. I also needed to see Scott, check in. I cocked my head, another thought coming to mind, was the entire freaking town full of shifters? Seriously, if the mayor turns into a big snake I'm booking it to Alaska... either that or having myself committed.

I couldn't stop myself from thinking back to my encounter with Derek and was surprised when a soft blush graced my cheeks. Dark haired and lean, sporting a short sleeve green henley shirt and a pair of black jeans, he was maybe a year younger than Stiles, if that. Those pearly white teeth and that dashing grin, ugh and those adorable green eyes, boy was he going to be trouble one day. The girls of Beacon Hills weren't going to know what hit them.

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.

After my baby was scrubbed and polished to perfection I finally made my way inside, the growing darkness informing me just how late it was. My stomach growled, right on queue, as if it had been waiting for me to realize the time. Putting away the hose and bucket, I wiped my damp feet on the matt outside before stepping into the house. Walking into the kitchen I went over to the fridge,and upon opening it let out a dry laugh. Yup, just as expected, other than a few sparse vegetables and take out containers it was practically bare. Next I opened up the freezer, spotting a frozen container of tomato sauce. Perfect. I tapped it out into a pot before putting it on the stove. Reaching back into the fridge I pulled out three slightly mushy tomatoes and a small carton of mushrooms. Peeling back the cling wrap I looked them over hesitantly, taking them out one by one. After a thorough investigation I deemed them usable. Gently washing them and the tomatoes I chopped them up into chunky pieces, and tossed them in the pot when finished. Hopping up onto the counter I went through the spice cabinet, tossing in pinches of garlic and parsley, oregano and cayenne pepper. Leaving it there to simmer on low heat I headed upstairs.

Following a quick but much needed shower, I threw my hair up into a neat bun, a long perfected hairstyle from my brief days as a ballerina. Throwing on some blush and a quick swipe of mascara I went back to my room to change. I pulled on a pair of stretchy black work out tights and a loose cable knit sweater, sliding on my flip flops before making my way back down to the kitchen. The mouthwatering aroma of sauce hit me before I even made it down the stairs. Smiling to myself I stirred the sauce before filling a second pot up with water and sitting it on the stove. Luckily, there was a package of spaghetti noodles in the cupboard because I hadn't even thought to check before.

Twenty minutes later a steaming pot of spaghetti sat in front of me. I made myself a small bowl, devouring it quickly like a starving animal. Luckily no one was around to witness that. Next, I cleaned out the pots and set them on the rack to dry before filling up a medium sized container. I found a brown paper bag and placed it inside along with a fork, napkin and bottle of water. Throwing in the last bun from the bread basket I rolled it up and set it by the door. Grabbing my keys from their place by the door, I snatched the bag off the floor and slipped out into the night.

.

I walked into the station and headed straight for the front desk. Seeing a middle aged black woman behind the desk, filing papers, I grinned. Fabulous. Leaning forward, I rested my chin in the palm of my hand.

"Special delivery for the Sheriff," I said in the sweetest voice I could muster.

The woman looked up, eyeing me steadily. I batted my lashes.

"Hayden Stilinski! Is that you?" she cried, coming out from around the desk and pulling me into her arms.

"Amelia," I smiled broadly, "It's good to see you."

"Lord, look at you," she said, twirling me around, "Now aren't you a vision... Though you still as skinny as a bird."

I rolled my eyes, every since I hit ten years old she'd been telling me the same thing. In the beginning she used to think I didn't eat. That was put to bed quick the first time she came over for a backyard barbecue. Her eyes practically rolled back in her head as she watched me pack away a cheeseburger, hot dog, a giant helping of potato salad and two slices of pecan pie. I swear I thought she was gonna fall right out of her chair with the way she was looking at me.

I smiled and shooed Amelia back to her work with a strict promise to catch up later. Then I made my way to uncle John's office, weaving in between desks and dodging deputy's going about their typical week day business. Which categorized a whole lot of nothing by the looks of it. Seeing my uncle sitting behind his desk, I gave a quick tap on the door before walking in.

"Yeah?" he asked without looking up from his reading. There were case files stacked beside him and papers spread out amongst various office tools. Coloured tabs categorized clear piles as he sorted through documents. No doubt he was going crazy looking at old case files with newly opened eyes. The silver travel mug I had left for him this morning looked to have been refilled countless times throughout the day. I plopped the bag down in front of him and took a seat in one of the chairs across from his desk.

He groaned, opening the bag and pulling out the container of spaghetti, "You're spoiling me, kiddo."

"Hey," I said, scrunching up my nose at him, "Sheriff's gotta eat."

I sat with him while he ate, rambling about my day when he asked. Which, as I informed him was productive but by know means exciting. Immediately I pushed down the image of Derek Hale as it rose to the forefront of my mind.

"So no time for job hunting in town, huh?" he asked me, a strange glint in his eye.

"No. Whyyyyy?" I asked him, leaning forward.

"Well," he started, clearing his throat, "I had a thought."

He paused, building suspense.

"Yes?" I said, urging him on.

"Why don't you work here? We could use someone at the front desk. You'd be answering phones, filing and making photocopies, typical office stuff." He bit into his bun, then used it to soak up the leftover pasta sauce in the container.

Hm. Not exactly what I was thinking of but the notion did have clear advantages. Especially with everything that seemed to be going on in this town.

Watching me think it over, he added to his proposition. "I reckon it's a better paying job then any you'd find in town. Besides we could use someone with your... Talents, around here."

Ahh, I suspected that might be what he was getting at. My eyebrows rose, "Meaning what exactly?"

"Meaning we've locked up a couple werewolves on the full room before, not just once either. It didn't end well. With this town becoming a hotspot for the paranormal... supernatural... Whatever you want it call it, we could use all the help we can get."

I had to admit that he was right. Especially if there really was some hellmouth thingy drawing the creepy crawlies into town, I'm sure things would be getting hairy again soon.

I sighed, a small smile coming to my face, "When do I start?"

He beamed at me, relief evident behind his eyes, "Eight o'clock sharp."

I was smart enough to realize that the relief I saw wasn't just for the extra 'super' help he would be getting at the station.

Collecting his container and fork, I dropped them back in the bag. Heading towards the door, I turned back to look at him, testing my theory.

"This isn't just a ploy to keep me close, is it? Keep me safe?"

He gave me a pensive meaningful look, "I'd be lying if said that thought wasn't at the back of my mind, kiddo."

I turned towards the door, half way out, before he spoke again. Voice low, almost a whisper, it stopped me in my tracks.

"Besides, I don't think there's anywhere safe left in this town."

.

.

.

I drove home with the radio off, deep in thought. The sky stretched out from horizon to horizon, like a dark billowing sheet it swirled overhead. Soft shadowy clouds danced across the atmosphere, hiding stars that appeared to be twinkling in the rolling waves. The skyline was uninterrupted by sky scrapers, billboards and condominiums but lush with trees and nestled with small businesses and homes. It was nothing like the smog filled cities I was used too, with grey ceilings and littered alleys. The streets here were quiet, almost empty in the late night, peaceful. Or... was everyone just hiding inside? Did they rush to their cars and drive straight home, not venturing out unless necessary? Had the people of Beacon Hills ultimately learned to fear the dark? I replayed the last few words my uncle had said, over and over again in my head. What the hell had happened to this town? Had it really changed that drastically? Supes usually coexisted underneath the mortal sphere, normal ones at least, going about their day to day business, almost indistinguishable from humans. Even when something big and bad rose up, the supes usually took care of it on their own, under the radar. What had caused the flux of ordinary goings in Beacon Hills to change? I needed to speak to my cousin, maybe Scott too, get the entire story, the whole lowdown.

When I arrived home the jeep wasn't there, just perfect.

I made herself a quick cup of peppermint tea before retreating to my room. Setting the mug down on the bedside table I opened up my laptop and put on some quiet music. I took my hair out and changed into my pajamas, which consisted of a pair of blue checkered boxer shorts and a loose fitting black tank top. Making a quick stop in the bathroom, I washed up, cleaning my face and brushing my teeth. I desperately needed a face mask. One more thing on the shopping list. As I finished up, I reached down under the sink, digging through my toiletry bag.

"Ah ha!" I shrieked, pulling out a bottle of nail polish, "just the one I was looking for."

.

Not even half an hour later, the front door opened. Signaling Stiles' arrival home. I was just putting the final touches on the second coat when he opened the door to my room. I wiggled my deep burgundy toe nails at him, as he stuck his head in, "What do you think?"

He rolled his eyes, ignoring the question as he came in and flopped down beside me on the bed. Rolling over he caught site of the picture on my end table. He reached out for the paint splattered frame, a sad longing look on his face.

"I remember this day," he said quietly, "It was a good day."

I reached up, grasping his hand, "It was a perfect day."

He cleared his throat, wiping his face before delicately placing the frame back on her side table.

"I need to know what happened, Stiles. To this town. To you. To Scott."

"Are you sure?" he asked me, "You can't go back to ignoring it once you know... believe me, I've tried."

I gave him a long hard look, wrapping my arms around my legs as I rested my head on top of my knees. "Ignoring it has never been an option for someone like me."

He took a deep breath and started from the beginning.

.

It took him two hours to fill me in on everything. It was far worse than I had ever imagined.

From that first night in the woods, to meeting Derek Hale. Scott becoming a werewolf and his romance with Allison. The argents, specifically Kate and Gerard along with the alpha, who turned out to be Derek's comatose uncle. He spoke about Derek building up as well as losing his pack. The kanima switching masters and leaving bodies littered around town. The arrival of the alpha pack was a shock to me, something I had never heard of before. Scott becoming a true alpha was a pleasant surprise though. The alpha twins. Things got even more bizarre as he got into the the ritualistic murders and their english teacher turning out to be a Darach. Lydia coming in to her latent powers as a banshee and them having no choice but to sacrifice themselves to restore the nemeton.

I interrupted him, putting up a hand to silence him. My eyes watered as I stared at him, unblinking. "You died?" I whispered, trying to keep my voice steady.

"Hey," he said putting his arm around me and pulling me in close, "It was only for like, five minutes."

"Five minutes too long," I whispered leaning my head on his shoulder. I couldn't believe I had lost him. Unknowingly. Even if it had only been for a second, he had been gone. Not for the first time I hated myself for not telling him, not trusting him enough to be able to bear the weight of my gift. Could I have prevented all of this bloodshed? Prepared him for what was to come?

He took another deep breath before continuing the story, this time almost struggling to get the words out.

The nightmares and hallucinations, him, Scott and Allison were forced to undergo. A side effect of the ritual they had used to find their parents. He smiled when he spoke of them finding Malia and meeting Kira. Then learning of her kitsune powers just as Stiles began to lose time, going crazy as the nightmares bled into his waking life. The oni showing up.

"Demonic ninjas?" I interceded.

Figuring out his connection to Barrow, planting the bombs and sleeping walking miles from home. His MRI, to checking himself into Eichen House, Malia his only silver lining. Finally he came to the nogitsune making itself known, losing all control of himself. I could tell it was painful for him, looking back at his part in all of it. Even after the dark spirit split from him, walking around tormenting his friends, all the while wearing Stiles' face. His voice cracked as he spoke about losing Allison and Aidan.

"I mean, you'd think we'd be used to it by now. Heather, Tara, Erica, Boyd, Aidan, Allison..."

My eyes softened as I reached out to him, my heart aching as I recognised a couple names from our childhood. "You never get used to loss Stiles, ever."

He finished the story with their recent trip to Mexico. Where they encountered the Calaveras and the Berserkers, finding Derek Hale and discovering Kate Argent, back from the dead.

"And well tonight she used him to get into the Hale family vault. Though apparently it was all part of some grander scheme to steal a hundred and seventeen million dollars worth of bearer bonds."

"That's so sad. He's so young to have gone through so much."

It seemed almost every other sentence revolved around Derek almost being impaled and almost dying to being thrown in jail or disappearing for days on end. I thought of the charming teenager I had seen only this afternoon, what a weight for such a young person to shoulder. I stared at Stiles, realizing the subtle changes in him that I had not noticed before. He too had had to bear so much. The echoes of tragedy behind his smiling eyes, the horrors he has witnessed, been apart of, that would never desert his mind. Even his aura was different, darker in places as if stained by the darkness that he had encountered. But also I couldn't deny the strength that was written across ever fibre of his being, to have come so close to the abyss and not tumble over its edge would leave its lasting mark on him.

I was broken out of my dark brooding thoughts by Stiles' laughter.

"Who Derek? He's like old."

I deadpanned, "We are talking about the kid I met today aren't we...?

"Yeah. Oh.. Oooh! No. He was just transformed back to his younger... Teenage self. It was a whole thing. I must have forgotten to mention that."

"Yes," I said, "It seems you did."

I looked off, lost in thought, "That was why his aura was so clean..." I whispered to myself.

"Huh," Stiles asked, "What about Derek's aura?"

"Well, I could tell he was a werewolf, immediately. Being born a shifter as opposed to bitten, it's in his very nature, his being. But... something was off, as if someone had buffed off, or over, a layer of his essence... It's hard to explain."

No, no," Stiles supplied, gears turning, "It makes sense. She changed who he was but not entirely because it was who he was at some point.. Just not anymore."

I laughed at his choice in words, "Would you believe that I actually understood that."

"Of course," He beamed, "I'm a genius."

I rolled my eyes, reaching out to my now cold mug of tea. Downing what was left.

"So," my cousin started, "What brings you here? Not that I'm not happy you are!" he interjected quickly.

I sighed, leaning back against the headboard.

"I just got tired of it all. Tired of following her around. Of not being as important as her headlining stories. I left a couple times throughout the years, or well stayed I guess. You know I was in boarding school in London for most of high school, until they kicked me out. She had no choice but to tote me around after that. I transferred from school to school but eventually managed to get my diploma."

"Yeah, I remember something about that, one of the last full summers you spent here was just before you finished," he supplied for her.

"Yup. After that, I mostly just followed her along. Taking college classes and bar tending whenever we stayed long enough in one place. Sometimes she'd just leave. I'd wake up to find a note or come home from school to find her gone. Just like that, as if she had forgotten about me. There were times when I followed her but a lot of the time I just stayed. Crashing on friends couches or renting a place, to finish the semester. Once I had my very own dorm room, stayed for a full term. It was rough at times... but I got buy. I sold some pictures," I exclaimed. Changing my tune I gestured to my strip of photos hanging on the wall, causing Stiles to get up and go over to them.

I followed him, pointing out the photo of me with my friends at the UT Dallas homecoming game. "That was one of the times I decided to stay. Ran with a pack of wolves actually. Spent a year and a half there, finishing my Bachelors Degree in Photography. Didn't stay for graduation though."

"Ran with a pack of- Wait, why didn't you go to your graduation?"

"From time to time Mum decides to be... Motherly and sends for me. Usually after wining some prize or award for one of her pieces. She buys a plane ticket and promises things will be different. That usually lasts about a month at times. Maybe two. Until, she sniffs out a new 'Third-World in Turmoil' piece or some corrupt authority exposé."

I turned back to the bed, sitting down cross-legged.

"I just got tired of it. Tried of living out of my duffle. I wanted-"

Stiles walked back over to the bed, crouching down in front of me, "You wanted to come home."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the no Derek, it hurts me too. Please review! xx


	5. Scorching Fires

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And, I'm sorry for the delay lovelies, its been a hectic couple of weeks.
> 
> Disclaimer; I do not own Teen Wolf, the right belongs to Jeff Davis. I just play in his world.

Danny

I pushed open the door with my elbow, propping it open with my foot as I manoeuvred myself in. The polka dotted boxes stacked in my arms tilting precariously to the side. Managing to straighten my cargo before they tumbled to the floor I placed them on the front desk.

Orderly and clean, I would bet everything on the fact that Amelia had most likely straightened it up for me. Walking around the desk, I stuck my small purse off to the side before patting down my shirt to remove any nonexistent fluffs that had somehow magically appeared. Not for the first time I wondered about the outfit I had chosen.

After getting up ridiculously early this morning, I had sat on my bed for nearly forty-five minutes. Teeth brushed, face washed and makeup lightly applied I was stuck. Drawers open, the two full ones at least, and my closet thrown open I had debated what to wear. What did 'police station front desk help people' wear to work? Was there a dress code? Would they give me some sort of uniform? Amelia wore a uniform. Yes, but she was a police officer. Ugh, I didn't want to over dress and end up looking stuffy or over eager but at the same time I didn't want to be a degenerate slob manning the phones. I should wear a pencil skirt, I decided. You don't have a pencil skirt, I argued with myself. I went back and forth a hundred times and through a numerous outfits before I settled on something simple. It wasn't like I had tons of options anyways.

The final choice was a white v-neck tee shirt tucked into a black pair of skinny jeans. I topped it all off by pulling my long hair up in a ponytail, adding a few curls at the end and blowing out my bangs in a airy sweep. Throwing on my lace up boots, a sturdy Steve Madden knock off, I had headed out before I could change my mind... Again.

So here I was, first day at the new job. You would think that with all the fresh starts and first days I had over the years, I'd be pro. Far from it, my stomach still did summersaults, my hands sweated and I fidgeted constantly. What I was great at however, was pretending to be a pro. So after giving myself a small pep talk, thats what I did. Besides some of these people I had know for years and well, I suppose it gave you a little pull when your uncle was sheriff and head of the department.

Wiping my hands on my jeans I picked up my boxes. Straightening my shoulders, I headed to the back and into the break room.

Putting them down on the counter, I took a deep breath and turned to face the already assembled officers.

"Alright y'all, first and foremost I figured, let's get this stereotype out of the way."

Oh god, I had gone southern on them. I thought back to all the times I had jokingly used 'y'all' when I lived in the south, mocking my friends and imitating their southern twang. Until, somewhere down the line, along with my love of sweet tea, a few words and phrases had stuck. It hadn't taken long to kick the habit when I had moved on but every once in a while they still made a reappearance. Like now, way to show them you're a professional Danny.

My internal monologuing was interrupted when laughter broke out through the room and I was patted and prodded out of the way to make a clear path to the donuts. Searching the room for my uncle, I saw him leaning against the door frame. Coffee cup in hand he was shaking his head slowly and laughing. Catching my eye he motioned to the side with his head and I followed him out of the room.

Sitting down at the edge of his desk he turned to me, a sad smile on his face.

"You did good, kiddo. They needed that, you have no idea how much."

I looked at him, taking in the heaviness of his posture and the tired lines on his face. There were bags underneath his eyes and his hair was mussed, now doubt he had been running his hands through it. How much sleep had he gotten last night? Did he even come home? I thought back to last night. Stiles and I had talked for hours, late into the night. To think of it now, I don't recall hearing him come in.

Dread filled me, "What happened?" I practically whispered.

He sighed, rubbing his hand over his face. "Three people were murdered in their home last night. A young teenage boy was... he barely got away, ran all the way to the hospital, barefoot and bleeding."

"How were they killed? Do you know? Is it..." I took a glance at the open door behind me, "Um, animal related?"

We both knew what I was asking.

"I honestly don't know. It was a real mess. I'm headed to the hospital in a few to find out."

He picked his jacket up off the stand in the corner and pulled it on.

Gesturing with his hand as he picked up the mug I walked out of the room. Following after me he placed a hand on my back, guiding me around tables and into the first main room.

"There's nothing we can do until we find out more, try not to dwell on it. And please," he stressed, leaning down close to my ear, "Don't tell your cousin anything yet. That boy thinks he needs to solve every murder that befalls this town."

Stopping in front of an occupied desk closer to the front he continued, "This here is Parrish, he'll show you the ropes. He's on the newer side himself so he's been through it all recently."

He gestured to me, "This is my niece, Danny. She's the new secretary... Receptionist... Filer.. Person... Whatever."

I smiled as he became tongue tied. Deciding to leave my job description at that he nodded at the young man, dropped a kiss on the side of my head and made his exit.

He nodded to the sheriff before going back to his work, "Just gimme, like five minutes to finish this up and then I'm yours."

"Alright," I said backing away, "I'll be up front."

.

I sat at my desk on my iPhone, head resting in my hand idly as I scrolled through my endless Tumblr feed. I had survived the dreaded front of the class introduction. They were the worst. You know, when you're the new kid, and the teacher makes you stand at the front of the class and introduce yourself. I loathed the teachers who made me do that. My first day at London Prep. Ugh god, I don't care what the English say, what they speak isn't english... Either that or we speak American here. Whatever it was, it was not just an accent, there is definitely a language barrier there. Thank god, my prep days were over. Actually, thank god my days of institutionalised higher learning are over. School is out for eeeeever, I hummed.

The phone rang, interrupting my high school tirade and ACDC rendition. I looked around slightly unsure. I guess that was my queue.

Clearing my throat I picked up the phone, "Beacon Hills Sheriff Department, Front Desk, how can I help you this morning?" That sounded about right.

A women's voice filled the other end, "Hi, I was just wondering if the sheriff left for the hospital yet?" There was a familiarity in her voice.

"Oh, yes. Unc— uh," I cleared my throat, "Sheriff Stilinski left about five minutes ago. He should be there soon."

The woman hesitated for a moment, "Danny? Is that you?"

"Um, yes, hello…" I fought to keep the confusion out of my voice. I knew this voice, think Danny. Female woman, older… calling from the hospital— a smile broke out on my face, "Melissa! How are you?"

"Well, it's been a long night as you may have heard so I could be better but other then that… I'm alright. Congratulations on your degree honey, I'm so proud of you. I don't always get such good news when Scott comes home from school," she laughed, " Speaking of, Scott didn't tell me you were back in town, and for good.. or well a long time it seems, if you're answering the phones at the Sheriff station."

I fought to contain my blush at her praise, "Thank you, I would have called myself but well, I'm not one to brag…"

"You weren't always like that," she cut in, laughter in her voice, "Besides, that's something to brag about."

"As for Scott," I continued, "Don't hang him out to dry just yet, I don't even know if Stiles got around to telling him, I only got in about a night ago, and well with all the excitement the other night at the school…"

I trailed off, eyes growing wide and cursing my big mouth. I always said too much when talking to Melissa, dammit! Looks like some things hadn't changed. Growing up she'd been the only one who could get me to crack. It was a superpower. Scott and Stiles usually fought to keep me away from her anytime she caught wind of our mischievous ways.

"The mess at the vault the other night…"

I stilled as she too trailed off.

She knew. Oh thank god.

I must have said that out loud because she gave a small laugh.

"I guess, I'm not surprised. You, Scott and Stiles were always attached at the hip. I swear, most of the time, I forgot I did really only have one child."

"Oh you're much too young to be the mother of a twenty year old," I smirked.

"And that's why you'll always be my favourite child," She joked. She heard another voice in the background as the phone grew muffled, "Your uncles here Danny, I've got to go but you better come see me soon young lady."

"I will," I promised, "Have a good day."

I set the phone down in its place and went back to my Tumblr feed, humming along to some obscure tune with a smile on my face. I bit my lip, if Scott didn't know already, he would know by tonight. I should probably try to see him first, I mentally moved 'See Scott' to the top of my to do list. I fanned myself, God, it was hot in here. Was the A/C on? Or had they put the heat on already?

Thinking back to Scott I shook my head, had I even answered his last email? I hit the little blue square on my phone, opening up my mail. I scowled at myself as I noticed his last email, fuck me. I was a horrible friend.

I wiped a bead of sweat from my brow, twisting my ponytail up into a bun, I secured it loosely with a bobby pin. The room had grown stifling.

A tendril of flame flared up on my shoulder, an intense heat crawling up my arm, consuming me. The crackling inferno roared in my ears, blocking out all sound but the blood pumping in my skull. I could see the flames in my mind's eye, heat bursting out, licking across my skin. The skin of my back blistered and charred, the thick cloying scent of burning flesh and hair filling my nostrils. I gagged on my tongue bringing my hand up to cover my nose and mouth as I jumped away from the offending heat. Knocking into the front desk painfully, I turned to face the fire.

Startled, Deputy Parrish's hand fell from my shoulder as he took a step back from my small shaking frame, voice concerned, "Are you alright?"

My breath came in pants as the heat dwindled and I sucked in gulps of fresh clean air. I watched as the fire seemed to pull back into Parrish, until all that remained were the glowing embers of his eyes. I reached a hand up to my shoulder, running it under the edge of my shirt, feeling the chilled and unmarred expanse of flesh beneath my trembling fingertips. I steadied my breathing and closed my eyes, counting to five before opening them again and forcing a smile to my face.

"I'm fine, really, just startled," I insisted as the burning embers winked out of his eyes.

He gave me an odd look but settled on a tentative smile as he motioned extravagantly behind him, "Well then, your tour awaits."

I grabbed my black cardigan from my bag before turning to follow him. Pulling it around myself tightly in an effort to cut out the stark chill that my body fought to regulate after the blazing heat. Silently choking on the scent of smoke still trapped at the base of my throat.

I followed behind him as he pointed out rooms and keys, file cabinets, computers and photocopiers. I half listened as I stared at his back, taking in the full stretch of him as he walked. If I focused just right I could call up the tendrils of heat that licked up across his aura, wildly raging across the reflection of his being. A fox in the hen house.

My mind still shuddered from the assault, mentally exhausted and shuddering, but another part of me was thunderstruck. Completely astonished as I wracked my brain trying to place the origins of the being before me. What was he? He brought to mind an aura I had come across in Morocco, an Ifrit, a fiery class of Djinn with insurmountable power. Amongst the eastern world and Arabic tradition they were known by many names and apparitions, sometimes angels, other times demons, even called genies by some. I wasn't quite sure what he was, his aura was unique, but it was the closest I had ever seen. If I had to put money on it I would go with one of the classes of Djinn, or perhaps a phoenix I added as an afterthought. I looked around the office, taking in the people that smiled at me and Parrish as we walked by. Did anyone know? Did my uncle know?

I looked back at him again as we stopped at the record room. The flames of his aura ran rampant, unchecked and unrestrained, like a live wire crackling alongside a pool of water. He showed me the workings of the filing system and how to work the copier. As he made a passing joke about toner ink, my eyes grew wide as I considered another possibility… Did he know what he was? Could he feel the surge of heat inside him? The volatile time bomb ticking beneath his skins surface?

This town grew more dangerous and intricate by the day as she pulled back each layer only to find a hundred more lurking beneath its surface.

.

.

I spent the next few hours moving back and forth between my desk and the record room, organising and storing files as I answered the phone and made photocopies of the police report's from last nights incident. I tucked an extra copy in my purse before handing the rest out to the deputy's on the case and placing the last sheet in the case file.

I hadn't even realised the passage of time until my uncle came in with a paper bag and a cup of coffee, placing them on my desk with a quick smile before disappearing to his office. My stomach rumbled as I pulled a sandwich out of the bag, a BLT from my favourite deli. I took a sip of my coffee and sighed, vanilla hazelnut, it instantly chased away any remaining chill from my psyche. I cracked my neck and rubbed my shoulder before tucking into my late lunch. The dull twinges of pain would linger on my shoulder for days, the phantom burn rubbing and itching across the muscle and skin.

It was instances like this when my gift felt more like the curse some saw it to be. My sight always manifested in different ways, not all pleasant. Sometimes it was purely visual, like glimpsing a pixie across the garden or a troll meandering through the woods beside the highway. Other times, I received strange feelings or shocks when directly interacting with 'supes' or anything to do with the 'hidden world.' It differed with my level of familiarity, to a person or specie. Shifters hardly phased me anymore, nothing particularly unpleasant anyways, while wolves themselves were mostly just a brush on my conscious that deemed recognition. As with Derek, there had been no pain or shock, just vibrancy, an annoying buzz that sought her to glimpse his aura. But like I said, it wasn't always pleasant. Sometimes I was graced with visions or glimpses I had no control over, usually but not always they resulted in pounding headaches and nosebleeds. They hit me at any time, striking me in the middle of the day or screaming me awake in the dead of night. Then there were manifestations of power, like earlier. An expulsion of energy striking out of an aura, radiating violently across my own. These manifestations and visions sometimes had greater lingering effects then the simple headache, nausea or nosebleed. The stronger the power, the deeper it struck. Over the years I had developed cuts and lacerations, bruises and burns. Sometimes there were clearly there, marked across my skin, yet other times they were scars that ghosted across my psyche. Invisible wounds, I could surely feel but never see. They were never life threatening and in a few days, or weeks they faded, disappearing into nothing.

My hand self consciously pulling at the base of my tee shirt before I knew what I was doing. A couple left lasting scars, like the thin pale lines across my hip, a memory transference from a little boy in India. His family had been slaughtered by the blood-soaked claws of a Rakshasa, a hideous demonic creature of Hindu mythology that feasted on blood and flesh, he had barely escaped with his life. And I had spent the next three days in the hospital beside him, recovering from the spiritual horror that had been passed to me.

I shook my head, clearing unpleasant memories from my brain. Those instances were few and far in-between. Gifted like myself, the young boy had not realised the depth of his powerful emotion when he had lashed out in his moment of terror, his aura seeking to share the burden of its anguish. The knowledge that incident had revealed was always at the back of my mind, the pain and infliction an aura could cause. Did it only transfer through the gifted? Or could that pain be directed on to others? Harnessed into a weapon? I knew one thing for sure, that amount of energy acted as a beacon. One that at the time I had been able to inform the authorities of before succumbing to my mental exhaustion. Had anyone else heard his call that day? Such a strong little boy I smiled, Nayan was eleven now. He had grown up so much in the last few years, so advanced for his age. He lived with his aunt and uncle now and attended school in New Delhi, he wrote often.

I cleaned up after finishing lunch, tossing the paper bag in the trash and making a quick trek to the bathroom. I washed my hands, then delicately peeled back the edge of my shirt. A very light red outline graced my otherwise smooth flesh, a perfect indentation of Parrish's fingers. It wasn't bad, I deduced, it would be completely gone in a couple days. Pulling the bobby pin from my hair, I untwisted my bun and tightened my ponytail before making my way back to my desk.

When I returned there was a young black woman leaning against my desk. Thick dark curly hair tumbling over her shoulders, a look of impatience on her perfect features. In a black button up shirt and green tailored suit jacket, she played with the end of her deep burgundy scarf. It was like a million degrees outside, who do you think you're fooling?

I slid in to my seat, giving her a warm smile as I apologised for my absence. Seeing her straight on, I fought to keep my shock inside, luckily I had practice in keeping my emotions in check, usually anyways. Her smooth mocha coloured skin was interrupted by four massive scars that ran along the side of her face, across her neck and disappeared beneath her shirt. The angry white lines only seemed to heighten the effect of her cold beauty, a harsh flaw that brought the rest of her into emphasis.

Her eyes roamed over me, cold and calculated behind her open smile, "Shouldn't you be in school?"

Oh, hell no. Before I could respond she started speaking again.

"I called about the case file," she said, holding up her badge, a haughty smile on her face.

I instantly disliked her.

I scrunched up my nose, putting up my fakest and brightest smile, "Just gimme a quick second, while I go collect the file and check with the Sheriff."

Her smile halted for a fraction of a second before she nodded her head. The edge of her scars puckering as she slightly pursed her lips, I could see her tongue running over her teeth. So she was worried, I speculated, nervous even.

I looked her over again, paying close attention to her eyes as I took a glimpse at her aura. I was shocked to noticed the shadowy tears in her aura, mirroring her scars perfectly, a lingering shine of vibrant red beneath its surface. An alpha always did leave its mark.

Though my observation had only taken a few seconds, she interrupted my quick gaze, eyebrows raised, with an impatient, "Well?"

I smiled and turned on my heel. Bitch.

Noting my uncle and deputy Parrish in the lunch room, I headed there.

"Uh, theres a U.S. Marshall here. Said she called about some case files?" I inquired.

It was Parrish who answered me, "Yeah Tony, said something about that earlier. She's here about last nights incident."

"So, Tony took a message and were just going to hand it over to her?"

They both looked at me, incredulous looks on their faces.

"Oookay then," I replied spinning away from the room and collecting the file, teeth on edge.

She smirked when she saw me returning, file in hand.

Before handing it over I put on my sweetest voice, "As it's a recent ongoing investigation I just wanted to remind you that that file is not allowed to leave the station."

Sure usually Beacon Hills didn't usually enforce that rule but I didn't like her.

She gritted her teeth before taking the file and flipping it open, reading through a few pages she shut it and slid it over to me, "Be a good girl and make a copy of these for me, will you. I'm sure you make excellent photocopies."

That, was a perfectly reasonable request, I tried to tell myself. A burning fury settling in my core. You're being irrational, Danny. Flames rose up in the pit of my stomach, almost rivalling the heat from earlier. I'm not being irrational, I argued with myself as I followed the light of the copier back and forth, she knows something. And I'd bet that she probably isn't who she says she is but what do I know, I seethed, I'm just a lowly secretary.

I handed her the copied file, still hot from the machine. Making sure that our fingers slightly graze as she takes it from me. Nothing. No flash. No feeling besides my gut. Nada. Zilch. Fuck.

She turned to leave, almost a skip in her step. Flipping her hair over her shoulder she shot me a triumphant look.

I told myself not too, really I did. I just couldn't help myself.

"Careful," I called out to her, halting her steps, "Full moon's coming."

Her face blanched before slowly tightening as she turned and disappeared out the door.

Checkmate.

.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N; Please please review! Let me hear your wondrous thoughts on the newest insight on Danny and her abilities. Is it too much at once? Too confusing? :3 xx

**Author's Note:**

> A/N; So? What do we think? I have lots of ideas for this story. I'm worried that this chapter didn't come out how I wanted it too. Anyone intrigued? Should I go on?
> 
> Reviews are love. xx


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